Shattered Lives, Broken Dreams
by LadySirius32158
Summary: Ever since his return from Azkaban, Sirius isn't the man he once was - and he has no memory of what he and Remus once were - can the miserable werewolf change that?


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

TITLE: Shattered Lives, Broken Dreams

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK:

DISCLAIMER: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy  
inspiration - Gary Oldman

Shattered Lives, Broken Dreams

Sometimes he is back there again - that place - that prison - that hellhole - that labyrinth of torture from which few people emerge at all, much less unscathed, and from which no one has ever before escaped. And yet he has escaped its venomous clutches, although he is far from being unscathed - very far from it, indeed.

So many memories gone, lost, trapped in the hazy mazes of his poor broken mind, and only time to tell if they shall ever be able to be recovered, brought back to light.

Not just memories, but feelings and emotions as well. It is bloody disconcerting to be brought face to face with someone and not only not remember them, but also not know how one should react to them - acquaintance or stranger, friend or foe? Or even past lover, which could be damned embarrassing? Does he have past lovers? He can't be sure. Friends, yes - he's been told about his friends, the ones they refer to as the Marauders. But when he asks everyone shies away from the question of lovers, and he has yet to get a lucid response to that particular line of inquiry.

One of these days he will just confront Remus and ask him - he is sure that Remus knows. Why he thinks that, he cannot explain, but the feeling sits just behind his breastbone, within his heart, and refuses to be dislodged from its position, so he will act upon it, as if it were an instinct, which perhaps it is. Merlin knows, he has few of those left any more.

But he still has Padfoot - that has not been lost. Obviously - it's how he was able to escape Azkaban, of course. Transfiguring into the large black dog has kept him as sane as he now is - and yes, the extent of his sanity is entirely questionable. Debatable, even. But it's something he has no control over at the moment, so he merely pushes it away as being in the category of unpleasant and let's deal with this later shall we?

And when he is not there, at least within his mind, he finds himself in his physical form, which is now in residence at #12 Grimmauld Place - his childhood home. And although he does not quite remember why, he knows he hates this place with no mere abhorrence or distaste - his very being shrinks from being here, as if there are things which have occurred here which are perhaps best not remembered. But it seems that he has no choice - Albus has decreed it, and the headmaster says that it is most important that he not stir from the premises. So he doesn't. But it is a leaden weight upon his body and soul - and this forced inactivity is wearing upon him greatly,

Things aren't nearly so bad when Remus is there. He instinctively follows the other man about the house, as if to let him from his sight is unbearable to him, although he cannot explain why that is - he derives comfort from the mere sight of him, which he finds with no one else. Not even with his colourfully coifed cousin, the one he calls Tonks, for to refer to her as anything else is an open invitation to be hexed. And Remus never complains, although there is an inexplicable sadness in his eyes which Sirius cannot explain. He catches that look in his eyes at unguarded moments, but if he questions him about it, Remus merely laughs and tells him that he is imagining things. But is he? Sirius is almost sure he isn't. But there is so much he doesn't know, that he just sighs and stops asking.

When Remus is gone, though - those are the truly bad times. For Remus has business to conduct for the Order - things he needs to do that cannot be done at Grimmauld Place. And so he leaves, albeit reluctantly, tells Sirius to behave and he'll be back as soon as humanly possible - or lupinly possible, he quips, a sad smile upon his handsome face - and he is handsome, Sirius notes, he's a very good looking man. Although he does not tell him so, for he suspects it would only make the other uncomfortable to hear that. To discover that Sirius likes men - even without his memories, he knows that that is true. He has never found himself getting hard thinking about, or looking at, pictures of any woman. And Merlin knows he's tried. Sent Kreacher out for a multitude of fuckbooks for just that purpose - so he can look at the pictures and wank. But nothing has worked. Not until the misanthropic house elf brought back a book which contained images of fucking men - and Sirius' cock quickly rose to attention. It was good to know that the equpment still worked, he thought, as he had himself a good hard wank, first in how long? He has no earthly idea.

And Sirius thinks about Remus when he isn't there - thinks about him a lot - about how handsome he is, how sexy he is, how his body, when he relaxes and removes his robes, is a finely tuned instrument indeed, and gradually it is Remus' image that supplants that of the unknown anonymous faces in the fuckbooks that he can't get enough of, the ones he wanks to almost frantically, as if he will die if he doesn't. It is Remus he thinks of when he cums, Remus' hand he pretends is bringing him to orgasm. And the knowledge is driving him crazy. Or crazier, depending upon one's point of view.

When Remus is gone, Sirius prowls about the dark depressing house, roaming from room to room, as if seeking something. Or someone. But there is nothing. And no one. And he drinks. Merlin, how he drinks. Kreacher brings him bottles from the extensive Black cellar - for he refuses to go down there himself, although he isn't sure just why that is, so he sends the demented house elf instead to do his bidding, which Kreacher doesn't seem to mind, at least for this purpose. Perhaps he is amused by the sight of the degenerate of the family proving his unworthiness of the Black name over and over and over again. Sirius doesn't even care what it is that Kreacher brings him, he drinks it. He spends his days and nights inebriated, intoxicated, snookered, as if only by drinking himself out of his mind can he hold on to what little sanity he has left. Which is such a convoluted idea in and of itself, it makes his head spin to contemplate it.

And yet no amount of drinking will make the dreams go away. That is when he finds himself back there most often - in his unguarded somnulent moments, no matter how hard he has tried to pickle his waking self, when he exhausts himself to the point where he is helpless to do anything other than enter Nepenthe's lair once more, he is at the mercy of the recesses of his mind that he cannot reach. Images assault him, images which his logical mind can put no name to, for they fail to make the crossover from right brain to left so that he can stamp them with the surety of his intellectual side, such as it is. Black shades, formless shapes, which swoop about him tauntingly, as if they wish to harm him in some way. He knows not what these creatures are, or why he fears them so, but every time one draws near to him, he trembles with fear, and struggles to remove himself from their presence, as if instinctively he knows that they are evil and mean him only harm. And he screams in terror in his sleep...

Remus Lupins dreads being at Grimmauld Place almost as much as he dreads not being there - seeing the tortured, shattered shell of what was once a virile vibrant young man, reduced to a mere shadow of what he once was, for no good reason other than the treachery of a perfidious rat, is killing him inside. Watching the way that Sirius struggles with some of the more common-place aspects of life, those things which should be just ordinary rituals, but which have become complexities to be reasoned out, over and over and over again. The faces of most people are unfamiliar to him, and require a gentle prod to bring the owner's name to mind. Remus has worked with him on this, and they have developed a secret code whereby Remus can say a simple word or phrase and Sirius will know at once who the person is. Simple mnemonics, actually, probably based on the mutual understandings of their souls, even if the feelings are long buried. Even Sirius' own cousin, Nymphadora, is subject to non-recognition, and even though she has not morphed once when she's come to see him, wearing the same face each time, it is obvious that she is a blank page to him. And afterwards, when he walks the young woman out, Remus soothes her tears with assurances of better things to come even as she realizes that Sirius is still lost within the recesses of his soul, and the lycanthrope hides his own pain to attempt to assuage hers, for his pain is so much greater, if she only knew. For as if these things weren't bad enough, Remus has lost his lover, his soulmate, his very Rock of Gibraltar. And now the only ones who even know that he and Sirius were ever once a couple besides himself, are Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. How ironic, although he is sure that Sirius would not appreciate the irony, even if he knew. But Sirius doesn't even recall his enmity for Snape, on the occasions that the potions master is forced to come to the house - mostly to deliver the wolfsbane he has brewed, that Remus may endure yet another full moon's torment - he is polite, albeit distant. Remus is grateful that Sirius is at least able to conjure their own friendship verily out of thin air, as well as his animagus ability, and Moony is no longer alone each month, but the rest of their relationship is now lost in the murky depths of that now ruined mind and heart. One face that Sirius knows without question, though, is Mrs. Black, and he tries his best to avoid her portrait, which is kept covered as much as possible since thus far it has proven impossible to remove her from her perch upon the wall. But sometimes the cover disappears - Remus suspects Kreacher has a hand in that - and when she catches sight of Sirius she attacks him with the most poisonous diatribes, vitriolic condemnations, abusive lambastings that end with him cowering and whimpering in front of her like a beaten puppy until Remus comes to rescue him. Sirius can become lost, even within his own house, and has been known to suddenly appear in Remus' room in the middle of the night - for of course he has taken a room of his own rather than try to lay claim to the one they once shared - when he will simply curl up in the bed next to Remus, and fall asleep, pressed against him warmly. Remus knows this means nothing, that his former lover is merely remembering what was, on some deep buried level - but consciously there is no sign that Sirius remembers anything of what they once possessed.

Although he has taken to following Remus about the house, when he is there, like a lost and frightened puppy, and how can Remus tell him not to, or to discourage him in any way? Of course he can't, for his heart goes out to him, and Merlin how badly he wants to take him into his arms, to kiss away his fears, to make everything right for him. But he can't...he can't...and it's tearing him up, wrenching his gut with an incredible pain that only grows heavier with time, weighing upon his very soul, as if Remus were Atlas - for Sirius is and always will be his world...

Leaving Sirius is so very difficult, but it sometimes cannot be helped, for he is still a working part of the Order, and the things he does for them are vital in this War which they are fighting. But it breaks his heart, for he can see how frantic Sirius gets at their impending separation, how clingy, and whiny and demanding, and although Sirius possessed some of these same tendencies in their youth, they are now only magnified by his mental disabilities - he is a classic case of arrested development, and emotionally he is still a hormonal teenager, in the ravaged body of a grown man.

Albus reassures him that in time he believes that Sirius will remember, especially under the auspices of Remus' tender loving care. But Remus isn't so sure, he doesn't have the headmaster's faith - after all, Albus isn't the one who sees Sirius on a daily basis, who sees what he is compared to what he was, or the one who knows very well the way that Sirius once was and no longer is - and how can he remember what they had when he barely remembers what they have now - which isn't a whole fuck of a lot. He tries to pick Snape's brain for some sort of potion that can perhaps reach the lost wizard and return him to where he belongs. But Severus, who is himself shaken at the change that has been wrought in his onetime enemy, for he too sees that the man is not nearly playing with a full wand, tells the heartbroken lycanthrope that there is no known potion which will effect such a cure, neglecting to mention that he has and is thoroughly researching the matter on his own initiative, and he reiterates Albus' assertions - that only time and Remus' healing touch can effect any such miracle. And Remus Lupin is plunged once again into the depths of a despair that only grows blacker with each and every day, as if he is already mourning the passing of the man he loves more than life itself - more than his life, even. And sometimes it is a relief to be sent out on Order business, although he feels guilty about that, too - for he feels that he has failed Sirius in a most basic way, is failing him on a constant basis, and he mentally scourges himself with the knowledge.

And even though Sirius' body, that hollow husk which houses his torn and bleeding soul, is a far cry from what it once was - he is emaciated almost to the point of appearing skeletal, and those hideous tattoos bedevil his pallid flesh, for Sirius has no more inhibitions about shedding his clothes in front of Remus than he ever did, even if not for the same reasons - he is still beautiful to Remus Lupin. His eyes wear a continually haunted expression, and he has major baggage beneath each midnight blue orb. His dark hair hangs lifelessly upon his shoulders - that which was once his pride and joy, the glossy raven tresses which Remus has always loved to touch, and which Remus has to refrain from reaching out and stroking even now, sometimes forced to bite on his own fist to accomplish this, for how badly he wishes to take Sirius in hand, to wash out the tangles which infest his mane, to run his soothing hands over his former lover's body and simply make him feel again, bring him back to life again. But he doesn't, and he won't, for he refuses to take a chance on harming Sirius in any way.

And sometimes, when he least expects it, he catches a strange expression in Sirius' unguarded eyes, as if the other man finds him sexually attractive even, but that can't be, and he is only too well aware of it. So he tries not to read too much into it and reasons that if it was someone else that was spending as much time with him as Remus does, he would wear the same look. Nothing personal, wolfboy, don't even think about it . . . which only leads to tears shed alone in the solitude of the night, whether at Grimmauld, or away. For Sirius is always with him, he carries him about in his heart, and he wishes for so much, for what might have been, what should have been . . . and at times like this he could gladly rend Peter Pettigrew limb from limb, for he is the architect of their sorrow, the author of the tragedy which they now call their lives . . . and although Remus Lupin is a normally peaceful man, he hates him with an intensity that surprises even himself . . .

Remus has been gone for almost two weeks - two very long weeks - and Sirius has counted each and every day, as if he is maintaining some sort of internal calendar, noted the passage of each hour, every minute and all the seconds that comprise them, roaming about the house like a troubled ghost. Kreacher has outdone himself in keeping his despised master supplied with alcohol. Not even Tonks has crossed over the doorstep of Grimmauld Place since Remus has gone, ostensibly they could be working together, but he has no way of knowing for not a word has he heard from anyone and no one comes near that might realize how far SIrius is sliding into total self-destruction at a pace which is truly terrifying. His mother isn't helping - of course - for as if armed with some sort of unearthly and nasty guidance system, she targets Sirius' weak spot and thrusts into it callously. "The halfbreed is gone, good riddance!" she cackles viciously, "He's not coming back, you know, even he knows how disgusting you are, even a halfblood like him wants nothing to do with you! You might as well kill yourself - no one here wants you...You're a disgrace to the very name of Black...' Et cetera, et cetera... Until Sirius begins to wonder if there isn't a certain truth to her words, begins to believe himself to be the worthless scum she makes him out to be - and only drinks all the more. And eats all the less . . .

Tonight is the worst night so far, for Kreacher has unwittingly supplied him with Remus' favourite chocolate liqueur, and although there is no conscious memory of having drunk it with the wolf before, something is lingering in Sirius' broken mind, something which nags at his heartstrings, rending them in two, as he drinks himself into a sodden mess, and passes out at last upon his bed.

And then the images begin - in all their unnameable, maddening splendor - a face, half-seen, a scent, a touch - a long sleek body, and hands - sensitive, gentle, sensuous hands that touch, that pleasure - and so much more...Sirius' body reacts to the images, even if his mind does not give them recognition - his cock grows hard and he moans aloud with suppressed desire, not even realizing that it is Remus' name he murmurs in his drunken delirium. "Remy...Remy..." something he has not called him once in all their time together, always Remus, as if Remy and Siri never were, and never would be again... He reaches out for him, notwithstanding, seeking him whether he understands why or not...

The dream Remus moves closer to him, their bodies are touching now, and Sirius is writhing in wordless frenzy upon his bed, his poor tortured body convulsing in his desire for the other, when suddenly everything changes - and what fills his mind now is nothing but darkness and decay, as the hideous phantoms of his nightmares begin to converge upon his thoughts, clouding his judgement, and they are hissing his name as they approach, garbed in their eternal death-shrouds, ghastly and ghostly - "Siriussssss...Siriussssssssssssss...Death...for you..." He feels his hand being taken and in his palm a blade is laid, and his fist closed about it...and his poor deranged mind understands what needs to be done, to rid the world of his unwanted presence...

Remus has been fretting for almost two weeks, but there has been nothing he can do about it - he has managed to gain a small entree into one of the wolf enclaves, one which Albus assures him they will most definitely need soon - that of Fenrir Greyback himself. He is worried about Sirius, of course, for this is the longest he has been gone since his lover's arrival at Grimmauld, and he can only imagine what the other man is going through. He trusts that Albus is maintaining some sort of watch upon him, and Tonks as well, for although she was with him at first, in the field, she was unable to stay, not being a werewolf. He has no way of knowing that she fell into foul play on her own return, and has been unable to keep her promise to watch out for Sirius. And Albus does not realize that he is not being tended either...

Finally, he has done what he needs to do, and with a great sigh of relief, he returns to the grim mansion, although by the time he arrives, it is long past the time when anyone is likely to be up. The house seems to hold an unearthly stillness as he stealthily makes his way up the stairs to the second floor, and he is about to turn toward his own room when some instinct tells him to at least check on Sirius, to see that he is sleeping, although it is most likely his strong desire to see him with his own two eyes, as he has missed him greatly. He pushes open Sirius' door, just enough to allow a thin strip of light to enter, to fall across the bed - with his sensitive lycanthropic vision, that is all that he needs.

And the sight that meets his eyes horrifies him. . .

Sirius is tossing and turning, his mouth opened in a silent scream, his legs thrashing, kicking out, as if at someone or something unseen. And in his hand, an upraised knife, its blade glinting in the starlight, can be seen, and in a flash, Remus is by his side, using his preternatural strength to grab Sirius' wrist before he can plunge the blade downward. His canine nose detects blood, and there is a thin sanguine line upon Sirius' forearm. Remus struggles with him as he continues his attempts to impale himself, even as a keening wail can be heard from his throat, which rises quickly to an earsplitting - at least to the wolf - volume.

"No, Sirius, no!" Remus forcefully grapples with him, and for a moment Sirius seems to display almost superhuman strength as he resists his efforts to disarm him. But Remus is far stronger than he is, and he knocks the knife out of Sirius' hand, and it clatters across the floor to land out of harm's way.

Remus' heart is beating so loudly that he is sure it is going to burst through his chest, as without pausing to think or analyse the situation, he gathers Sirius into his arms and holds him close. "Siri... my Siri..." he whispers, "my love...my dearest love...sshhhhhh...ssshhhh..."as he attempts to simply soothe him, to calm down whatever has possessed him, whatever fears that have assailed him.

Sirius watches the dementors as they attempt to administer the kiss to him - coming closer and closer to him - even as they urge him to kill himself. They've found him, they've found him, his weary mind repeats, as he attempts to put himself beyond their reach, even if it is through the finality of death...

From a great distance, he hears a voice, a familiar voice, which calls out to him, and Remus appears before him, his voice a beacon to guide him, even as he reaches out his hand to take Sirius'. "Siri...my Siri..."

And Sirius responds, "Remy...Remy..." as he in turn reaches out to him...

It takes Remus a minute to digest what his heart has heard, and his topaz eyes widen in amazement. Could it be, is it possible? He looks at the face of the man in his arms, into those beautiful midnight blue eyes. Does he merely see what he wishes to see, or is there an acknowledgement there, a recognition that has been sorely missing these past months? He hardly dares to breathe, even as he whispers..."SIri?" incredulously.

"Remy, you're home!" Sirius - his Sirius - replies. "I've missed you so..."

His heart thumping almost painfully, Remus reaches down toward Sirius, tentatively brushes his lips across the other's, fearful of his rejection, his disgust - of anything, but what actually happens, when Sirius returns the kiss, and tightens his arms about the other's body hungrily. And suddenly they are kissing as if they haven't kissed in twelve long years, as if they've not seen each other in all that time, before Remus breaks the kiss at last, his voice trembling, emotion-filled.

"Siri... oh Merlin, Siri...you're here, you're back...you know me, don't you? You remember me, yes, and you remember us?"

"Oh yes, I remember us," Sirius almost whimpers. "Remy, I was afraid. The dementors - they were coming for me, to give me the Kiss, and I wanted to die rather than submit to their living death..."

"Hush, love, hush," Remus admonishes him gently, "it was a dream, they are not here, you're safe with me, my darling..." Although he can't help but wonder to himself how that knife came to be there. . .

And following closely upon the heels of this emotional reunion, comes reality - and warmth and desire. "Remy, I need you," Sirius whispers, "I need you to make love to me...please..." As his hands even now begin to rove excitedly over his lover's body, and they are both rockhard and quivering with long suppressed passions.

"Siri, I don't know..." Remus is attempting to do the right thing, to get Sirius to return to sleep, and tomorrow they can discuss it. But his own body betrays him with its obvious wishes, and Sirius has very adeptly gotten half of his clothes off before he can finish protesting. Who is he kidding? He wants Sirius just as badly as Sirius wants him, as he proceeds to remove his lover's clothes, forgetting for a moment the spell they perfected in their sixth year, one which causes a state of instant nakedness.

And when they are both divested of their garb, their bodies are pressed together so tightly that not a single ray of light can pass between them, even as their cocks grind together in glorious friction. They have ceased to speak, their mouths, their lips and their tongues are saying everything that is necessary, and soft moans have become the order of the day. Moans and whimpers and wordless exultations. Remus is very well aware that it has been twelve years and more for each of them, and that stamina is at a minimum for that reason. And he is not about to take a chance on harming his Sirius for the world. They have time for other forms of lovemaking - and he knows that that too will come with time.

He reaches between them, encompasses both hard cocks within his strong grasp, bringing the flesh together so sensually as he begins to stroke them together in mutual satisfaction. Sirius responds by thrusting eagerly into his grip, his lips fairly devouring the other's, rutting against him as if his entire life depended upon it.

The friction is well nigh unbearable now, and both bodies are covered with a light sheen of sweat, as with one accord they reach their mutual climax, screaming one another's names into conjoined mouths, as their cocks burst forth in long-contained orgasms, long and hard, covering Remus' fist and their chests in thick gooey cum. Cocks pulsing, radiating, hearts pumping in time once more, souls reunited...

... as they collapse at last upon one another, gasping, struggling for breath, eyes locked - topaz upon midnight. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk, to understand...to work to repair the damaged animagus, for of course there is still much he does not know, and it will be a long hard row to hoe. But for now they are simply enjoying their newfound togetherness - the rest can wait.

"I love you, Siri, I've always loved you," Remus whispers, his lips peppering Sirius' cheeks with kisses.

'I know, I love you too, Remy," Sirius responds, as if he has just discovered the wheel - which in a way he has.

They continue to kiss and to cuddle and to murmur their protestations and avowals, over and over and over, until the exhausted Sirius falls into a deep and satisfying sleep, now that Remus has banished his bugaboos once more. And Remus watches over him as he sleeps, for a very long time, until he too achieves slumber, for he is a tired, but happy wolf. And they remain twined about one another, never losing contact for a moment, throughout the remainder of that night, until morning claims them once again...


End file.
